Every Breath
by triggersaurus
Summary: Follow-up to 'Every Street'


Title: Every Breath  
Author: triggersaurus  
Summary: follow-up to 'Every Street' (read it at http://www.geocities.com/er_trig/triggersfics.html)   
Note: This is not a conclusive end to 'Every Street'. If you read this and dislike it, then you are free to disregard it and consider it no part of 'Every Street'. I've contemplated many different continuations of that fanfiction, and this is only one of them - I may well come up with several other alternative endings. 

Every Breath

The church was dark, not with the colour of night but the solid deep brown of the oaken pews, the strength of the heavy beams way above his head, the plush burgundy of the prayer books and the cushion by his feet. Light in tiny fragments shone through the intricate pattern of the enormous stained glass window behind the alter, depicting Mary holding a young baby Jesus on her knee as he points in wonder at birds flying around them both. Few other people lurked in the church at this time of day - outside it was grey and dusky with a hint of rain in the air. A solitary old woman, curled over with age, sat further forward in a pew, tracing words in a covered bible with a hooked finger. A volunteer church worker swept invisible dirt in front of the alter, and an eager teen pushed pins through a new poster to hold it to the noticeboard by the doors. In his lap, Kate watched the rays of light on the windows, and the man sweeping, and reached for the prayerbook.  
"Boo. Boo." The rudimentary language was enough for anyone to understand, but Doug knew she would just rip the pages out and instead lifted her in the air, turning her around to face him. He winced a little as the waving hands clipped his left eye. Settling down again, the toddler rediscovered the wonders of the light beams from a new angle, and fell into a gummy silence, two fingers in her mouth.  
  
"You know, I brought you here to experience religion, but if you prefer the sunshine then I guess that's okay." Doug stroked the thin layer of downey brown hair on his daughter's head, pausing for a moment. He knew she was too young to really care what he said and to understand what he was going to try and tell her. He didn't have any clear plan about what he wanted to say, but he had to start somewhere and let the words flow.  
"Both me and your mom spent quite a bit of time in these places when we were kids, depressing huh? You know, the problem with being a lapsed Catholic is all the guilt. I got enough guilt already, without the religious factor. Your mom was more religious than me, Russian Orthodox Catholic or something, all sorts of weird festivals they had. You would have loved it, I can just see you all dressed up in one of those God-forsaken costumes. No pun intended there. Something to do with painting eggs too, and strange dances, and I don't know what else. Your grandma would have you doing all that. You'd probably love it to begin with, then grow to hate it like Carol did, and then run away from home when you're 15 with some boyfriend with an attitude problem...not that I'm worried about losing you or anything. You and your sister would have looked perfect in those costumes though. You'd look perfect in anything, take after your mother. She would be so proud to see you now, if you look up there hard enough maybe she can get a glimpse." Doug looked upwards, to where Kate pointed at a Christmas decoration hanging from the rafters. He remained silent, looking to the heavens for some sort of reassurance as Kate slid back down further into his arms and chewed her fingers. Snapped out of his reverie, he glanced down at her and continued.  
"It's hard to say this, Kate. It hurts to say it now, knowing what I've lost. But...I want to tell you so you'll always know. Your mom was the first and only person I have only really loved. Proper love. I wanted to be with her all the time, and when I wasn't I was always thinking about her. I'm still in love with her. Her face is always there in my mind. You're the only real part of her I have left... Just your luck to get my genes, huh? Better get used to it quick, kiddo, you got years of bad hair to get through." He smiled towards her, but at himself. Joking to get away from the sharp edges of his soul that he was revealing. He had whispered the words to his daughter as if he was sharing the secret of life with her. But it was the secrets of death he shared, the secrets of pain and hurt and guilt. Oblivious, his child lay in his arms, quiet, as if she was waiting for him to continue. He knew that really it wasn't the words she was listening to but instead the feel of his deep voice and the movement of his chest up and down that she was concentrating on. But he could convince himself that she really cared about the confession that spilt forth from his mouth, and he let his hand rub the top of her head absent-mindedly as he spoke again.  
  
"You know how difficult you were to find, huh? Took me 6 months to find you. 6 months - that's half a year - for you, a bit less for your sister. You think I did the right thing for her? Yeah, yeah. I worry about her too much, right? That's your mom who said that, did you hear her? No? That's who I saw in Tess, she had the same hair and eyes... 6 long months you were hiding from me, way out in Michigan. You know, I never even knew you existed for a whole year. I had no idea. And then it took so long to find you, the counties left a difficult trail with no breadcrumbs or anything, you've seen more of the US than I have, kiddo. Not even 2 yet and you're a traveller. Bet it was cold in Michigan. They seemed like nice people though, so I guess you had heating...damn, listen to me. Why am I doing this to you? You don't care, you don't want to know all this crap..." He sighed, realising that his daughter was fast asleep. His breath shook with a sudden wave of grief that he had never let loose, and he swallowed it back down again, trying to push Carol's image out of his mind as it floated into view. He knew he shouldn't have come here. It always made him ache for her so bad that he wanted to find his path to heaven right then, with no thought as to the child in his arms, the tiny apartment with its rent to pay, the night shift at the little drugstore. He hated living without her. Her death was like a brand on his heart, a mark burnt into the muscle forever. And he was so, so scared of losing the only part of her he had left in Kate. He only left the house to work after she was asleep, leaving her on her own for 4 hours while he scraped money together to keep them both afloat. The only time they left the house together was to shop once a week, and to visit this church. No-one had followed him in over two months but that didn't make him less wary, or less careful. No-one could know how he felt, constantly looking over his shoulder for anything slightly abnormal, any shadow that remained a second too long.  
  
Why keep running? The question that had pervaded his consciousness so frequently during the long months after he saw the photos, the evidence, flew across the surface of his mind again now. His answer took a breath in and exhaled, tiny fingers flitting lightly on the skin of his arm that kept her close. He didn't need to ask himself why anymore, but the struggle to get to this place had felt so long and so difficult...worse than anything he'd ever experienced before. From the moment he learnt he was father to two baby girls, and the moment of his descent to insurmountable grief - again, the photos burned into his very soul flashed before his eyes - he knew he would never stop in the search for his children. And yet how he had wanted to. Yearned to. Every time he hit a no entry sign on his search, he questioned his mission. Would it not just be easier to give up? To let them, the shadows, find him and do their worst? His life was miserable, a fruitless search for infants he'd never known, devoid of friends, family, and the one person who could turn it all around was dead. And he was to blame for all this shameless destruction. But something was there at the back of his mind making him stand up and run, to test his stamina to the absolute limits and then drive right over. He knew he couldn't leave the only part of Carol left in the two children, he couldn't let them go. He had to see them, if only to reassure himself that somehow she lived on.   
  
But the day when he first pushed open the door of the strangers' lounge, the swinging motion for a second blurring his vision, the day when he saw the tiniest, softest, most innocent and untouched apparition of childhood...that day had been a drink from a fountain in the middle of a desert. The eyes that skimmed over his feet, legs, and face slowly and questioningly, and then stopped for a deeper look, were not new eyes. Second hand eyes, eyes borrowed from one before her, eyes that should now rest with angels. But was this an angel who sat on the floor, a teething ring wedging her mouth open? The light in his eyes seemed to simultaneously sparkle and die. For one part of him couldn't believe he'd finally found her, and that part had need no longer to stumble through life aimlessly. But the other half of him crumbled and dissolved as he looked at the last good thing he had created, and the last piece of a woman he thought he'd never see again. A smile cracked his own face, and his eyes watered, but they were merely emotive ripples on the surface of a much deeper pond. It had taken six months and three days to find her, four months and ten days to find Tess. Tess, easier to find because she had been adopted in full, registered with the state of Indiana, had a big house in a town called Sullivan, an older brother and sister, a mother who stayed home all day to look after her and a father who owned a small accounting firm. And she was happy there. She hadn't said that, and neither had her new parents, or her new siblings. But he had seen it as he watched them all play in their local park. Satisifed she was well, but helplessly accepting the fact that he could never provide everything she was enjoying now, he had walked away. He consoled himself that he knew that she was alive, that she had Carol's hair and light, soft skin, that she would grow up loved and safe. But it only renewed his fervour to find his other daughter. He had sworn to himself that if she too was living a happy, comfortable life with a new family, then he would leave her to be her own person too. Because he knew he would be so hesitant about letting her out of his sight, so worried about them getting her...doing what they had done to Carol...she would never be a normal child. And he wanted her to live a normal life.  
  
So was he happy or sad when he discovered Kate was in care, unadopted due to medical reasons? The piece of paper had told him that, under custody of the District, his daughter had contracted a viral infection and lay comatose for nearly two weeks before progressing to the healthy state she maintained now. During the time of her treatment she had been moved across state to a specialist children's hospital, and then a foster parent who had medical experience, and then back into care in Michigan when the foster parent, a resident of the state, had abdicated responsibility due to a 'family crisis'. Such a busy life she had had already. And she sat there, on the floor of the care centre, and looked completely untouched by everything. As Doug held her now, sitting on the cold bench in the church, he knew that his daughter would never have to know of her history. She'd never remember it, so why tell her? Why spoil a happy life? Would he ever tell her? Could he bring himself to do it? But one day she would ask, he knew. One day she'd want to know why he looked over his shoulder every ten seconds, why she was the only person he smiled for anymore. And then he would tell her. She deserved to know the truth, he supposed, to deny her his honesty would be against every ideal he had, and yet he was the protective wall around her. To tell her that her mother had been murdered because of him would be like the wall collapsing on top of her.   
  
He sighed, and looked at the sleeping child on his lap. He couldn't decide something like this now. It wasn't something he'd have to worry about for a good few years yet. Would Carol want her to know the truth? Afterall, she herself had been kept in blissful ignorance regarding her family's past, and look what had happened when she'd found out. Doug bit his lip, thinking of it. Carol would want Kate to know. But she wouldn't want her to know everything until she was old enough to deal with it - and old enough to promise not to do anything about it. He felt his breath catch in his chest once more and banished his thoughts, locking them up tightly at the back of his mind once more. With the decision, almost as if she knew, Kate stirred and raised one arm into the air although still asleep. Gathering himself to leave, Doug stood and lifted her, turning to collect the backpack he carried everywhere from the seat beside him. And he saw the shadow sitting on the end of the bench. Their bench.   
  
All the muscles in his body seized and froze, his legs frozen, his arms clamping Kate to him, his neck contorting. How had they found him? So careful, and yet he'd allowed himself to sit there, roaming his mind and paying no attention to his surroundings. After so long, he thought he'd taught himself to be aware all the time. How had he missed this? What could he do to get away - did the shadow have a gun? He needed to conceal Kate, and make sure that she would be able to escape. He had to do something to get away from whoever watched him. But to run would be stupid, running wouldn't stop a speeding bullet from splitting his chest in two. He had thought of this moment for hours, had come up with actions plans in the face of shooting, fighting, one opponent or many, being attacked on the street, in his house, in a store, Kate being snatched away...but he had never thought of the situation he was in now - knowing there was someone there, them knowing he knew, and yet the lack of movement or speech pressing him into the ground. His mind raced, and he watched the figure stand very slowly. Why had never bought a gun? At the time he had known he didn't want his daughter to grow up with a father who carried a gun, or even had one in the house. But now he felt stupid. What good were morals if he had no daughter? If she had no father? The shadow moved forward and his brain told him to drop down to the floor, push Kate under the pew where she would be safe. But the message didn't reach his muscles as the figure moved nearer and nearer, and just as his feet kicked into action, stepping him backwards, a shaft of light from the enormous stained glass windows dropped across the face of the person before him, refracting and reflecting every little light beam from the contours of the nose, cheekbones, chin, eyelids, lips, to his eyes, onto the retina and down the optic nerve straight into his brain - and suddenly he was paralysed. He couldn't function any more. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't feel the child he held and the numbness spread to his legs so he couldn't sense them anymore.   
  
The person stepped further forward still, letting more and more light flood across the skin. The eyes were sunken, and the cheekbones prominent. The clothes clung to the thin frame they hung off. Long fingers stretched forwards, reaching for the flesh of Doug's arm, and then retracted with surprise as Doug desperately sucked in air and whispered out more air than language. But the letters and sounds hovered in the air above them both and slowly fell into place and became a sigh on the wind of time as they reached forwards.  
  
"Carol."


End file.
